Over a Pint
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "Give a dog a bone." - Stuck at a Bilgewater tavern with no money and only a single pint left, Twisted Fate thankfully finds financial salvation in the form of a skilful pool player. Yet as the balls start rolling, it appears that he's found something else in the champion too...


(A/N): My dad always told me that it's good to be spontaneous :P

Be it exams or revision or gaming, I've generally had a lot of trouble trying to do write ups recently. While I've had guidance through fanfic requests, these are usually for fics I've been planning for months and because of that I lack the real enthusiasm I tend to get with other stories.

Generally in the field of oneshot writing, I find you should be _spontaneous_. There is absolutely nothing wrong with planning a story, but spending too long in one place results in your thoughts slowing to a halt. Get writing, get content :)

Now, this fic idea came to mind whilst sitting on a bench reading a book, where a scene involving a snooker table came into play. Now, snooker is the sort of game you'd expect to see in a pub, and where in the land of Valoran would you find the best pubs?

Well, Bilgewater I'd think!

Anyway, it is a perfectly realistic possibility that this fic will suck monkey dung through a swirly straw due to the portrayal of the characters being a bit outside my usual three archetypes. This was also all written on paper first, so expect quite a lot of spelling errors!

Warning: Spelling errors, OOC characters, inaccurate portrayals of a game of snooker or pool or whatever it is, my attempt at writing a woman who isn't shy or a tsundere, quite a lot of suggestive bits and some language!

**Over a Pint**

"Bollocks!" the moustachioed gentleman cried, the large hairy curls that sat on his lip twisting upwards alongside his yellow-teeth as he snarled. "Bloody, buggering, bleedin'…" he continued, crouching down on wobbly legs to rest his chin on the rim of the pristine maple pool table. The woman adjacent to him teased with a cheeky wink oozing of femininity, prompting the man to conclude his outburst. "… Bollocks!"

"Are you done, sweetie?" The woman cooed, running her fingers along the frame of the pool table as she circled and closed the distance. The man grumbled to himself in defeat, tugging at his collar to try and ward off the stares across the bar.

_They weren't looking at him, they were looking at her._

One could say that Miss Fortune was a bit of a local attraction in the Bilgewater pub "The Broadside". Everyone and anyone could have a piece of the champ, but like so many before him he had failed spectacularly.

_Exit, stage left._

The moustachioed man handed her the monies for a pint at his own expense; her reward for a ten game streak. Despite her mastery of the pool table all she'd ever ask for in her bets was a free drink. You could demand her to strip down and dance and she'd do it if you won, yet she was perfectly comfortable with sticking to her cool beverages.

"Bottoms up." She whispered deviously, gazing into his eyes as she glugged down the tenth glass of the night.

_How she was still standing, he'd never know._

He shuddered in embarrassment as she put the empty glass down, opening her mouth wide to present her damp, glistening tongue. "All gone!" she mumbled, making sure he had seen her achievement before closing her jaw to grin. "It was fun, sweetie. I'd love to play someone _unique _like you again."

She prodded his chest playfully, and with that he turned to exit through the trendy saloon doors. As loving and serene as her kind words sounded, she tended to say that to everyone she faced on the table. Miss Fortune leant against her pool cue like a royal guard at his post, waiting for the next challenger to arrive.

_Thankfully for her, salvation was right around the bend._

Sat at the empty bar-room counter, a lone man caressed his first pint of the day. He was usually the sort who'd drown in the stuff, but money was tight and he wanted to savour the golden nectar known by commoners as lager. Paranoia hidden by his wide-brimmed hat, the gentleman slipped his fist into his coat pocket and fished furiously for a copper or tin.

_Not even a crumb._

He was broke again; the cards hadn't been smiling for him this week. That was the singular reason why Twisted Fate, professional gambler, con artist and tango performer, was seated in a rundown Bilgewater tavern with a glass of lager smaller than his wallet grasped between his taut fingers.

Life as a wanted man meant you had to keep moving, and it was part of the routine to rent a room in a pub for every night to keep the likes of bounty hunters seeking a pretty penny off his head. His emergency funds were enough for two months, yet being appreciative of a high-roller lifestyle he'd burnt through it all in around six days.

_The man still needed a roof over his head._

_The roof still needed a dime and a tip._

Twisted Fate took a large gulp of his beverage nervously, surveying the drunken tavern with the grace of an elite assassin on patrol or a charity worker looking for guilty parents. Cards were out of the question: These filthy pirates probably weren't even _coherent _at this point, let alone able to play poker. Like a sleuth he tipped his hat further forward, examining the crowd for a viable target.

_Boom, headshot._

By the ancient yet surprisingly well kept ornate snooker table stood a woman, who he had to admit looked more gorgeous than every girl he'd been with combined. Twenty-or-something, she stood with the control and comfort of a local or native yet lacked the sort of features he'd come to associate with pirate women; flat breasts and knotted hair to be precise. No sir! She had the sort of curves that'd make a perfect circle flush in jealousy!

Hurriedly he downed his lager, making sure that none of the drops remained in hiding at the base. He'd spent a lot on it, and he wasn't going to miss his money's worth. Fixing his coat in a fidget, he proceeded to wipe his lips with his sleeve – beating the purpose no doubt. Glancing at the woman again, it appeared that she had noticed him making to rise from his seat. She gestured at him to remain in place, before smoothly slipping the cue back onto its rack with its fellow brethren and parading her way towards the bar with swaying hips as if ruling the catwalk. At first glance most would think that she was acting rather tarty.

"_Never judge your draw from the first card you see."_

She took a seat next to the gambler, crossing her legs as to accentuate her thighs. Twisted Fate scoffed at the hairy bouncer by the saloon doors who stared at the madam's posterior intently – at least _he _was being subtle with his perverted peeks!

"Usual, Gus." She called, clawing a hand through her auburn hair as a make-shift comb. The bartender was facing away yet promptly began shaking a strange orange and red mix for her. The lady turned to look at her lanky companion seated to her left, the fury and confidence of her gaze burning through the brim of his hat. "Say, I don't recall seeing you around these parts before honey. Are you lost?"

"Why, it just ain't the sort of place an esteemed man such as myself frequents." He replied, his gravelly voice maintaining its façade of eternal charm. "If you don't mind me saying, of course."

"Hmmm?" She purred, somehow managing to sound enthusiastic and interested as she flattened her palms across the sticky counter. "I've never seen a _businessman _before! Welcome to Bilgewater, mister…?"

"Graves." Twisted Fate lied, dropping his old partner's name in as an alias. The limey bastard has done enough to him in the past to merit his position on his countless list of fake names. "_Malcolm_ Graves, madam."

She didn't believe him; he could tell that much, and to be honest she could probably tell that he could tell! Gus returned with a tall yet thin glass in hand; a hypnotising white swirl swimming within the strong bubbly orange of the drink the woman had ordered. She plucked it from his fingertips, purposefully brushing her palm against his knuckles.

"An Eye-Popper?" Twisted Fate inquired, tapping his empty lager in thought as Gus paced away. He swerved his barstool around with a drawn-out squeak, watching her sip from her eleventh beverage of the day. "Not the sort of drink I'd expect your average lady to drink."

"Well, I'm certainly not your average lady." She teased, letting her tongue peek out from between her red lips. "Mr. _Graves."_

The Ionian Eye-Popper had actually been banned in Demacia several years ago, after an incident where a Piltover researcher realised that the orange-scented beverage prompted instant addiction upon smell, and that in 74% of cases one would become dependent on a glass every six hours to prevent a ten year period of heightened depression. Thankfully in Bligewater you had access to a flask of the stuff 24/7; 'twas the pirate equivalent of the sewage-based moonshine you'd get on the gypsy tracks of Valoran.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself sir!" The dame gasped in exaggeration, placing her glass onto the coaster provided by Gus. She reached out for "Graves'" palm, aiming to grasp onto his knuckles. "My name is Miss Fortune…" she began, pausing for a moment to add drama and weight – or to hold back a hiccup. "But you can call me _Mrs Graves _tonight."

Twisted Fate tilted his hat up, flashing a confident grin. When it came to people like her there were only two options; to melt or to stay solid.

_He preferred the latter._

"Call me Malcolm." He winked, prompting a girlish giggle from Miss Fortune. He had avoided answering her offer skilfully; few could ever pull that off. Pivoting on her seat, she kept her glass in tow with grace and elegance.

"So what brings you here, Malcolm?" She asked, fidgeting as if anxious to return to the snooker table. Her hand brushed at her collarbone, no doubt to try and grab his attention. "Here to enjoy the _view_ Bilgewater has to offer?"

"Something like that, ma'am." He admitted, remaining still. "A distraction from work, I suppose." He couldn't help but let his gaze linger at her beckoning gesture, staring at her exposed shoulders and neck.

_Spotless, beautiful… "Delicious" was a better word._

Miss Fortune let the gambler admire her willingly, rather amazed by his restraint contrast to your usual customer at the Broadside. It was selfish of her, but she loved to spoil herself from time to time.

"A distraction?" She repeated, tossing her rouge locks back swiftly. The pool table remained vacant as she had left it; it was her territory, and the patrons of the tavern respected that. "My… We could always play a game, sweetie."

Twisted Fate grinned at her proposal, removing his hat to scratch at his head. "I do love a good game." He'd never really been a wiz on the snooker table; poker and pontoon was where the money was at in the majority of Valoran game pens. However there were always exceptions to the rule and he'd made certain to verse himself in a wide range of games with this in mind, varying from "Freljord Axe-Throwing" to the often lethal "Shuriminian Musical Chairs."

"Follow me, Malcolm." She purred, turning on her stool and rising to her feet in a single, silent motion. The idle chatter of the tavern lowered to a curious set of mumbles as the champion pulled in her next catch of the day. The dame exhaled gently as the lanky gambler slowly stood up to meet the challenge. "No need to be shy; I'll be gentle, just for you."

He didn't miss the kiss-blowing gesture she made, but continued his walk towards the rack of cues unimpeded. Eight in number, the hard shafts of finely treated wood glistened in the low light of the setting sun. Selecting his weapon from the wide selection, he turned to face her. "A pint a shot, last one conscious wins."

"_Mrs Graves" _clenched onto her own cue – much lower in quality to her counterpart's due to its extensive use. Despite her being a clear foot smaller than Malcolm, she stared up at him with interest and challenge. "In Bilgewater, we're told to always hold our drinks."

"And in the biz…" Twisted Fate replied without missing a beat. He paced to the ready-made pool table and leant to take aim under the scrutinising gaze of the madam. Like a sniper watching their target, he froze. "… We're told to never drop them."

He rammed the elongated shaft forward with a sudden jerk, aiming to put spin on his strike. The billiard balls scattered as if escaping a charging rhinoceros, within moments two of the spheres sinking into the corner pockets. Miss Fortune giggled in joy, wrapping her warm body around his arm.

_About time she had some fun._

"Gus? A pint for the handsome gentleman, sweetie?" The champion cooed. As if voice controlled, the silent bartender handed the woman another Ionian Eye-Popper that she gestured to give to Malcolm. Before he had a chance to take it from her, she pulled it back to take a long, deep sip from the glass before firmly placing it in between his awaiting fingers. "Your turn, honey."

Twisted Fate maintained their stare as he rose his glass to glug down the glimmering contents. The drink was sweeter than he recalled, and brought a comforting warmth to his chest and gullet. Miss Fortune couldn't resist a giggle as he placed the glass down, the haze of intoxication already getting the better of him.

"Corner pocket." He declared, gesturing to a lone billiard and then towards the net farthest from it. He leant forward to take aim, and Miss Fortune remained latched to his arm in an almost defensive manner.

"Keep it steady." She advised, tapping his slacking arm with her index finger. He tensed the limb, testing his arm with a couple of cautious thrusts. The dame chuckled. "You look so serious, Malcolm! Looking cool!"

Twisted Fate grinned, the words of the champ building him up. In pool and snooker it was the slightest mistake that would ruin your game. As long as he kept sinking his shots, the esteemed professional wouldn't stand a chance.

_But part of him wanted to see her play._

_Not just to see her skills, mind you._

He continued to stall for time, taking a moment to inhale the fine scent and aroma the young lady was emitting. It must have been something to do with the Eye-Popper, yet for some reason she'd gradually been growing more and more gorgeous as time went on. Miss Fortune remained totally silent, and he reared back the cue for his shot.

Something touched his cheek. It took him a moment to realise that the cheeky champ was planting a wet and teasing peck on his stubbled jaw, but it took even longer for him to notice that he had misjudged his angle due to the surprise. The solid white billiard ball zoomed straight past its intended destination, chipping the table's frame and flying to the panelled floor.

"My turn." Miss Fortune winked, running her finger along the faint red mark she had left on Malcolm's cheek. It would've stood out for miles if it wasn't for his blushing expression. She kicked the ball up from the ground and tossed it onto the table with style, anxious to show off to her companion. "Now watch closely, honey."

Twisted Fate took a polite step back as she sidled into position; forced to practically lay on the ornate table to reach a cluster of billiards. Rubbing his cheek to try and remove the mark, Miss Fortune took her shot in a matter of moments. In a flash the white sphere zig-zagged left and right like a ricochet fresh from a six-shooter. Within moments four balls were thrown into the same pocket.

_All in one shot._

Pleased with this, Miss Fortune rested the cue against her ample bosom casually as she reached for her drink. She glanced at the gambler as she glugged, predicting his comment beforehand. "That's luck if I've ever seen it, ma'am."

A slither of drink escaped from between her pursed lips, quickly subdued by a brush of her finger. Approaching the man with swaying hips, she brushed her damp finger against his lower lip. "I've got plenty of luck to go around, baby."

Twisted Fate folded his arms, his cue held at attention by his curled elbow. By the _heavens _how tempting it was to lick her lingering finger, but now was not the time. He gestured at her legs with a nod of the head. "Your posture was completely off. Bet you could've sunk them all if you were stood right."

"Oh?" Miss Fortune whispered, only then pulling her finger away. She deviously licked the tip of her digit before resting the palm over her heart. "I'd love to see your pose, Malcolm."

The gambler tossed his hand up, gesturing her to ready herself for her next shot. Rotating around the table, she stretched forward and angled her cue. Wandering behind her, he decided to use one of the oldest tricks in the book. Reaching over her he snaked his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, their forms practically merging in warmth as he fiddled with her strange grip. Miss Fortune was probably just as confused as he was, but what could he say? He loved the classics.

"Like this." He began, tugging on her arms. Trusting the handsome fellow, she surrendered control to him willingly out of curiosity over what he'd do rather than the style he intended to present. It didn't take a genius to know that he was begging to have a bit of a fondle, but she was far too pissed off her head to really care.

_That, and he'd earned that much at least._

_Give a dog a bone._

"My, be gentle now Malcolm!" She giggled teasingly, the tavern maintaining its aura of low mumbles. The Broadside respected her actions, and when she was on patrol all fell silent. To her surprise the gambler wasn't being rough at all. In fact, save for their proximity it appeared the charming man was _avoiding _touching her.

_Restraint of a gentleman; respectable trait._

"Eyes on the prize." He urged, the brim of his hat wobbling towards the target. She did so as he clasped onto her fingers, holding the cue tightly. "Firm grip, and..." with a stiff lunge the shot was fired. It was a simple one, yet Miss Fortune was surprised to find that the spin was much greater than she was used to. The opaque cue ball froze in place as it passed the rod of motion to a green ball, which proceeded to burst into a short-lived sprint and landed in the northern pocket. "Uno point."

Remaining in her position, Miss Fortune reached for her glass once more. Eye-Poppers never seemed to hit her that hard, and she couldn't help but admire the succulent taste. A half-sip, before she pivoted and sat on the ornate table; hand extended in offering. "I'd say that was a team effort, hmm?"

He nodded, taking his own sip from the glass. She caught him as his lips lingered, her own taste ruling the rim of the pint. Miss Fortune prodded his chest, hopping back down and brandishing her cue.

_She wasn't done yet._

Twisted Fate promptly backed off as she lined up her shot, noticing how she had changed her stance. As much as she didn't want to admit it, his posture was more comfortable than her usual. Combined with her style, it was a match made in heaven.

"Whoops!" She giggled, purposefully missing her shot. The ball rebounded off the side of a pocket and spun to a dead stop; a total dud. They rotated, Miss Fortune thrusting her cue out to him. It was superstitious nonsense, but she loved it to bits. "I kept it warm for you, sweetie."

The gambler was on the verge of taking his shot when the saloon doors burst open, slapping the bouncer across the torso rather viciously. The novelty double doors swayed in an absent wind as five large figures marched in to the tavern in an arrowhead formation, ignoring the selection of tonics at the bar and going straight for the pool table to see the famous champion herself. Twisted Fate rose from his leant position curiously, recalling the Machiavellian moustache of the man from earlier in the day.

_He looked different when he was angry rather than embarrassed._

"Bloody _bint_, you tricked us all!" He spat, throwing an accusing finger at the pirate dame. She placed a hand on her chest as if to mockingly say 'moi?'. "This is a bleedin' _set-up_, ain't it?"

His accomplices nodded in unison, a chorus of agreements emerging from the party of grumpy blokes. Miss Fortune didn't glance back at Malcolm for support; he needn't have his day ruined: He was a good man.

"My, I'm afraid I don't quite understand _Percy."_ Miss Fortune replied, an undertone of threat well hidden behind a cute and flirtatious giggle. "You just wanted to play a game. Didn't _you _have fun?"

_It was "unique"._

_"Unique" meaning "her most boring catch ever"._

_Still, he was worth a few pints._

One of Percy's wingmen took a step forward, his hand deep in his trouser pocket. They were probably all armed; this was Bilgewater after all, but she was packing her own heat. Percy gritted his yellow teeth, his moustache wobbling precariously on his lip. "You owe us money. You owe us _all _money, you..." he gestured at Malcolm, who still grasped the lucky cue with white fists. "... Probably owe that poor bastard gold too! Come on boy, don't let her get to you!"

Miss Fortune's glance conveyed genuine discomfort, her lips firmly set as to hold back any foul words. Directly addressed, Twisted Fate took a step to her side. His fingers teased to lock with hers, for he needed her support to stand tall. She did so without dispute, once again giving him control. It was becoming a habit, but she liked giving him the reigns every now and then - he knew what to do; thought like her.

"Why, she ain't done anything wrong." He suggested, tilting his hat up in a diplomatic manner. Percy wasn't actually that big, although there was aged muscle behind his sheath of blubber. "Just minding her business, like you and I."

"She's _already _gotten to you? Bloody..." Percy sighed, shaking his head in distaste. He tapped Twisted Fate's hat, sending it to rest at a jaunty angle. "Nobody steals from _me."_

"_Nobody _touches the hat." Malcolm retorted, the cue still on hand to open up on the fat bastard. Miss Fortune clenched on his fist as if to remind him where he was.

_The Broadside watched on._

"You boys should leave." Miss Fortune advised, curling a lock with her finger. Even in a time of crisis that same flirtatious tone remained solid. "Bilgewater isn't safe for _Demacians."_

"For _Demacians?" _Percy spat, growing tired of her tone of voice. His patience had snapped, and his fist dove into his deep pockets in hunt for a weapon of some sort. He would've finished with something witty, but he was interrupted by a litre of lager.

Twisted Fate reeled back his arm, before pushing the mean-spirited Demacian into his henchmen like a bowling ball thrown at pins. Using the confusion to his advantage, he clambered onto a table and called out in a loud bellow. "Brawl!"

_Play time._

Chairs scraped and flew into the air as pirate and scoundrel alike began exchanging blows. Pirates love a good fist-fight, and pissed of their heads they'd get into action with the smallest provocation. Gus crouched behind the bar as one of the Demacians was tossed over the counter, smashing several bottles of absinthe in his wake. Chuckling to himself, Twisted Fate dismounted the table and reclaimed the hand of his dame. "Hold tight now, Mrs Graves."

A hysterical giggle was her only reply as they navigated the chaos that had embraced the Broadside. Handing her Eye-Popper glass to one of the brawlers to use as a bludgeon, Miss Fortune kept close to the gambler's back.

_This was so much fun._

Twisted Fate booted a slumped man away from the entrance door, holding it open just in time for a Zaun bloke with an eyepatch to be tossed out in a heap by a duo of smugglers. They thanked him as they dusted their hands, before clearing the joint to find someone else to throw. Twisted Fate gestured at Miss Fortune with open hands. "After you, ma'am."

Plucking his wide-brimmed hat from his long black crown, Miss Fortune placed it on her vacant head and blew him a cheeky raspberry. "My, such a gentleman!"

The two left the roaring crowd of the Broadside making their own racket, laughing at the state of things as Percy was thrown at a window. Unfortunately for him the glass was reinforced, and it took five tosses for the pirates to finally give up and leave him on his dazed lonesome.

The sun had since set, the dock of Bilgewater illuminated by scattered lanterns and poorly lit vessel bridges. Despite the shadows, Miss Fortune's flesh still glistened in the radiance of the moon. Even if it was a warm night, Twisted Fate couldn't help but offer her his coat - just to cover her collarbone and shoulders, if anything.

"We didn't get to finish." She pouted, accepting the black jacket willingly. It was far too big for her, but he couldn't help but find the image endearing. "Why, I was enjoying that too."

"A shame." He sighed, holding onto her ancient cue. "That damned Percy ruined it for you."

"No need to get grumpy now, Malcolm!" She winked, grabbing his naked hand. It was hotter than usual, trembling as if he was both embarrassed and anxious at the same moment. "We'll _always_ have tomorrow, hmm?"

Twisted Fate nodded, understanding her words. Between a broke gambler and a snooker player, the two made quite a formidable duo. He wouldn't quite call it _love_, but they could at least rely on eachother to survive in the dangerous world of Valoran. He may have not found a roof like he'd planned, but he did find a shoulder to lean on.

He could trust his Fortune.

_Couldn't he?_

X

_(A/N): Urrr... Bad ending ._._

_Welp, spontaneous fic concluded. I tend to be able to write much more efficiently in this style, yet it does hurt my back and hands alot! xD_

_Still, hopefully I can learn from this. Miss Fortune was a new type of character for me to write, and I've seen worse I guess :l_


End file.
